


Lost and Found

by Alethia



Series: Lost Leave [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Developing Relationship, Episode Related, F/M, One Night Stands, Oops I Fucked My Commanding Officer, Porn, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 19:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19707712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "You fucked the pride of Starfleet?!" Tilly said, voice rising with every word."I didn't know who he was," Michael said, a touch defensive."Oh, my god. Oh, my god, that is so hot. Wait, I touched his hand. I touched the hand he hadinside you."Michael closed her eyes. "I need you to stop saying things now."





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank all the lovely commenters at AO3, who so inspire and delight me. This absolutely exists because of you. Sequel to [Lost Leave](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19420669) taking place during 2.01 "Brother." Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1035040.html).

The _pulse pulse pulse_ of Michael's heart beat in her throat as Chris introduced himself to Saru, telling him he was taking command of the _Discovery_. 

Chris. Taking command of her ship. Chris...was her captain? 

Michael couldn't keep her eyes from straying to him as Saru asked for an explanation, hoping she hid her emotional turmoil under concern. Chris was firm and resolute, the picture-perfect Starfleet captain in the new gold command uniforms. Michael held herself very still, forcing her eyes not to...wander. 

Chris was focused on Saru, not looking at her at all...and it _bothered_ her. 

But no. That wasn't—she shouldn't care about that. Because he was now her _captain_ and her commanding officer, even if _this_ Chris, all perfect and correct, kept blurring into _that_ Chris, smiling at her, naked in bed. 

But she wasn't thinking about that. 

"All of them," Chris said as Michael dipped back into the conversation, ominous and authoritative and so compelling it took everything in Michael not to react. Part of her was consumed with concern for the emergency, part of her was analyzing where Spock was, but a supremely inappropriate part was busy cataloguing every little detail. His eyes, still so blue, now filled with concern. His hands, and everything they could do. His command posture—how had she not recognized it back on Starbase 5? She idly wondered if that was why she instinctively responded to him; she was primed to respect people with that bearing. 

Respect. Because that's what she was feeling. 

As they walked Chris and his crew out of the transporter room and through the halls, the conversation swirling around her, Michael tried to get hold of herself. This reaction was...unseemly. So they had slept together— _a lot_ , her mind whispered—they were still officers and adults. Chris wasn't beside himself at seeing her; no, he had barely reacted at all, focus staying on Saru. She should follow suit.

"Do not covet thy neighbor's starship, Commander," he said, dry, his tone getting her attention again. Michael's eyes flew to him, surprised by the religious reference. "Besides, we got the new uniforms," he added, _putting hands on himself_. 

"And lovely uniforms they are, Captain," Saru said. 

"Very colorful," Michael managed, hoping her tone stayed dry, mind suddenly scattered at the sight of those hands. Those _hands_. 

Connelly relayed the details of the red signals, and yes, Michael understood this. She clung to it, offering, "Like a compass at the North Pole." A simple summation. 

It got Chris' attention, though he still wasn't looking at her: "Well put. Why didn't we think of that Connelly? Huh? Think of all the syllables that gave their lives." Michael eyed Chris, who had his gaze on Connelly, like he expected an answer. Some kind of challenge, maybe?

"The metaphor seemed a bit simplistic," Connelly shot back. 

"I believe it's a simile," Michael corrected, unable to help herself; she'd dealt with the condescension of the Connellys of the galaxy since childhood and she had no interest in letting their mediocrity stand. 

Chris' eyes _finally_ swung to her, sparking that familiar heat. From a simple _look_. "Then I owe you a simile, Commander..." he said, prompting. Michael stiffened a little; so they were playing it like that.

But no. Michael suddenly realized he didn't know her last name. They'd had nearly two days of carnal exploration and they _hadn't even learned each other's names_.

Though, to be fair, other things had seemed more important at the time. 

"Burnham, Michael Burnham," she offered, holding his gaze. If they were going to serve together, she couldn't fold under his scrutiny, even if her heart was still beating wildly in her chest, her body responding to his closeness instinctively.

Chris returned the look, his expression going knowing, with an undercurrent of affection that made her want to flush. But she wouldn't because she was _in control_. "He said you were smart," he said, rueful. Michael tilted her head and he clarified: "We have someone in common."

"Yes, I'm aware, Mr. Spock. I was expecting to see him." Part of Michael yearned for it, part of Michael feared it, and asking it of Chris...it was a lot. 

"Sometimes it's wise to keep our expectations low, Commander. That way we're never disappointed." Michael narrowed her eyes as he turned to the turbolift; what the hell did _that_ mean? Was he talking about Spock...or something else entirely?

Michael spent the whole trip to the bridge turning it over in her mind, searching for the deeper meaning. Was the message that she shouldn't expect anything from him? Her instinct rebelled; it seemed so unlike him. 

But then, maybe she didn't know him at all, she thought as she took her post on the bridge. They hadn't even had two days together. How much could she know, truly? His actions had seemed noble and honorable and she knew he was brilliant in bed, but other than that?

"You have really beautiful nailbeds," Tilly said, focusing Michael on the DNA authentication, Tilly awkwardly fumbling over herself in the face of this new captain. 

He _did_ have really beautiful nailbeds. On his beautiful fingers that he'd used to get her off more times than she could count. 

Except that wasn't true. Eleven. He'd gotten her off _eleven_ times. Though, to be fair, not always with his hands. His mouth still popped up in her dreams frustratingly often. 

"Thank you," Chris said, mild, taking Tilly in stride in a way that made Michael want his mouth on her all over again. 

But then Tilly _just kept talking_ , Michael taking it in with a growing smile, Tilly's exuberance as striking as Chris' smile. She'd seen that smile before. 

She'd _missed_ it. 

And then his personnel file was up on the screen, Chris inviting them to study it...and Michael couldn't help herself. She drank in the information, clocking the F in Astrophysics immediately—wildly out of place given every other grade was an A or A+. She wondered what the story was. 

She wondered why he didn't mind sharing this with everyone. 

"I know he betrayed this crew. If I were you, I'd have doubts about me, too. But I'm not him. I'm not Lorca."

Michael's earlier uncertainty evaporated. Here he was, validating their unease and meeting it with transparency and genuine empathy. Not expecting their acceptance, but showing how he was going to earn it.

 _Want_ surged through her, clear as a bell. It was wholly inappropriate...and all Michael could do was stand stiffly, trying to keep all signs of it off her face as he continued on. 

"I don't have to remind you that the last time we investigated a previously-unknown energy distortion, it resulted in the Klingon war," he said, looking straight at her. 

Michael looked away, suddenly realizing that he knew who she was...and what that meant. She'd reveled in her anonymity with him before. It was freeing. And now it was gone. 

Michael didn't know how to feel about that. 

As she catalogued the loss of it—people always brought assumptions to her mutiny, an endless series of questions and explanations that never seemed to satisfy—she dimly tracked him setting a course, the crew falling in line easily. Liking him. 

Michael could relate. 

Chris took his place in the captain's chair, something reverent in it as he tapped its arm and said, "Hit it."

The wave of lust legitimately stole her breath. 

*** 

Michael reread _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ as the _Discovery_ made its journey, virtual candles lighting her room:

_“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?“_  
_“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,“ said the cat._

She didn't need an expert to analyze why she picked that passage. 

***

Rejoining him on the bridge was its own kind of shock, seeing him there, like he was a permanent fixture. He hadn't left since he'd set foot on it—of course he hadn't, he was proving himself worthy of the crew—and Michael shivered at how natural he looked. How right it felt.

That feeling was only compounded by actually working with him, facing a field of debris that didn't make sense, her ideas accepted so readily, with such admiration...Michael went a little woozy with it. 

And then she found a Starfleet vessel in the debris and it all went to hell, stress crackling through Chris like a live wire. She could see it in his tense shoulders, in the way he snapped at her. 

But. She could fix this.

***

Chris stepped into the female changing room, already dressed in his gold suit, the material molding to him _obscenely_. Michael dragged her eyes up to his face, trying to suppress her instinctive reaction, her hand frozen on the zip to her own suit. 

Thankfully, Chris hadn't noticed yet. He was looking over at Nhan, _something_ in his expression. "Can you give us a minute?" he asked, soft, some kind of message passing between them.

Nhan shot Michael a look, then retreated without a word as Michael hastily finished securing her suit and turned away from the lockers, facing him. Chris waited until the doors sealed shut, then he turned to her. "Hi."

"Hi," Michael said quietly, not sure how to play this. 

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," he said immediately, like it needed to be said first. 

Michael stiffened, still a little stung. "I wasn't challenging your authority."

"I get that now. I shouldn't have gotten frustrated."

Michael shrugged. "You care."

"I do. But I should have had more patience and listened to you," he said, apology in his eyes, making sure she knew he meant it. Michael inclined her head, accepting that. 

The silence turned vaguely awkward. Chris didn't say anything, letting her...take the lead?

Michael shook her head at him, a little lost. "I don't know what to say."

"It's a new one for me, I'll admit," Chris mused, wry.

"I don't... _do_ this."

"I know," he said with that devastating quiet confidence, making something inside her tremble. 

Michael swallowed, swamped by memories, everything having slotted into place. "So it was Captain Pike who wanted to be alone in a crowd and have that be okay."

"And Michael Burnham wanted to be away from the weight of people's expectations," he murmured, his eyes going warm. "You remembered."

"I've thought about you. I've never thought about this." No, she had been quite convinced she would never see him again.

She had no idea what to do now. 

Chris cocked his head, like something about that was notable. "I've thought about you, too."

Heat flushed through Michael as she pictured it: Chris, thinking about her. It shouldn't matter...and yet it did. 

Then Chris cleared his throat, visibly shaking it off. "I know it's, uhh, an unusual situation, but I hope it won't affect our ability to work together."

Michael matched his tone: perfectly professional, perfectly correct. "Of course not, sir. I hold nothing but—I have the utmost respect for your command."

Chris looked like he wanted to say something more, but that was when the doors opened and Tilly walked in, pulling up short at seeing the captain there. "Oh, sorry. I was just—I'm being needy, I know, but—anyway, I didn't mean to interrupt."

Chris turned to her with a smile. "You're not, Ensign. I was just leaving. See you out there, Burnham," he added with a respectful nod, striding out. 

Tilly looked after him, a little line appearing in between her eyes. Then she zeroed in on Michael, speculative. "Why do you look flustered?"

If anything, that got Michael _more_ flustered. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, not knowing what to say. 

That seemed to strike Tilly. "Pike came to see you. Wait a minute. Do you know him?"

"Ah, you could say that." Michael debated it for an instant...but no, she was going to need to talk to someone about this. "Remember when Saru made me go on leave?"

Tilly instantly did that math, eyes flying to the now-closed door, wide and shocked. She looked back to Michael. "You fucked the pride of Starfleet?!" she said, voice rising with every word. 

"I didn't know who he was," Michael said, a touch defensive. 

"Oh, my god. Oh, my god, that is so hot. Wait, I touched his hand. I touched the hand he had _inside you_."

Michael closed her eyes. "I need you to stop saying things now."

"Yeah, that'll happen." She paused, her silence going on for too long. It was suspicious enough that Michael opened her eyes to find out what she was up to. 

Tilly just nodded, in control again. "Okay, I'm back. And I know you're freaking out, but here's the thing: he's only on the _Discovery_ temporarily. Your bedroom acrobatics marathon was weeks ago, before he was ever your CO. It's all good. I mean, super hot and distracting as hell, but you should be fine."

"It's not fine. Nothing about this is _fine_ ," Michael protested, a roiling, unhappy _thing_ in the pit of her stomach. 

Tilly stilled, her eyes narrowing as she took Michael in. "...oh."

"What?"

"You still want him," Tilly said, wondering, like she was just wrapping her mind around that. 

Michael stiffened, her insides going cold. "I do not."

Tilly shook her head. "You _do_ , you totally do. I know your looks. You want to shove him onto the nearest flat surface and ride his brains out." Michael flashed back to rolling Chris over and doing just that while they were on leave; heat _flared_ through her at the memory, her body suddenly desperate for exactly that. 

Michael froze. She _did_ still want him. 

Tilly cocked her head, seeming to see all that. "Yep, there it is."

"He's the captain," Michael protested, hearing the weakness in her own voice. 

"The sex must have been epic," Tilly shot back, nakedly envious. "There's no other way you become all...this." She gestured to Michael vaguely, like that meant something.

Before Michael could ask about it, Nhan returned, looking to Michael expectantly. "It's time."

Tilly rushed to hug Michael, the embrace brief, but warm. When she pulled back she looked to Michael with a grin that was so brave it made Michael want to hug her again. "You can't die, you know. Now you owe me _all_ the details."

Michael smiled back at her. "I'll do my best on the dying, still not going into details," she said, moving to join Nhan. 

"Oh, come on!" Tilly called as she walked away. "I have rights!"

***

Chris was hyper-professional on the mission to the _Hiawatha_ , if overly cavalier with his own life. But he listened to her, trusted her...and came back for her. 

A win in every column. Even with the shrapnel hit to the leg. 

***

Pollard removed the brace, revealing shiny new skin that still felt faintly numb when Michael ran a hand over her thigh. 

"The numbness should fade in a few hours. Stand up and see how weight feels," Pollard said, stepping back a little.

Michael swung her bare legs off the biobed, standing up carefully. The pain was gone, her wound healed. She looked up at Pollard. "Thank you, Tracy."

"Remember that the next time you try to rip the shrapnel out before my people are ready."

Michael went faintly chagrined. "I thought I was helping."

Pollard shook her head, muttering, "Officers," like she wasn't one, too. Michael started to respond—

And the med bay doors opened, Chris walking in. Michael's response died on her tongue as he zeroed in on the two of them and headed over. She was suddenly intensely aware that she _was not wearing pants_. She leaned against the biobed, trying to seem professional and assured rather than half-naked and wanting at just the sight of him.

He came back for her. 

Chris stopped by her bed and nodded to them both. "Excuse me, Doctor Pollard. Might I have a moment with Commander Burnham?"

Pollard flicked her eyes to Michael, but acquiesced instantly. "I'll leave you to it."

She moved away and Chris turned to Michael. "Computer, privacy protocol," he said, an opaque barrier appearing around her biobed, cutting off all ambient sound. His expression softened. "It's good to see you on your feet. How are you feeling?"

"Better."

Chris nodded, worry settling into the line between his eyebrows. "You gave me a scare out there," he said, honest and direct. 

Michael forced herself not to shiver, but it was a close thing. "As did you. Giving up on yourself like that." She couldn't help the faint disapproval in her voice, but she also didn't regret it. He should know that his life mattered. 

"I didn't want to be the cause of your death," he said, eyes big and almost pleading, like this mattered and he needed her to understand.

"You weren't," she insisted. "You saved me."

"You returned the favor." He looked at her almost in awe, like he couldn't believe she was real. 

Michael smiled a little. "Not a bad day's work then." 

He nodded, expression marveling. "It was so...seamless. With you, out there. Hell, even up here. Working with you...it's like we fit."

The words warmed Michael, exactly what she'd been feeling. They had synced up instantly, a back-and-forth that took her months to build up with others. She tried not to connect it to how quickly they'd clicked on Starbase 5, in bed. 

It was a challenge. 

"I feel the same," she said, quiet. 

Chris swallowed. "My mission is over."

Michael started, the surprise of it catching her off guard. Over? He just got here. How could it be—

"'Investigate the red signal,'" Michael said dully, realizing he was right. He'd done that. 

Chris nodded. "I relinquished the conn to Commander Saru. He ably handled the asteroid," he said, resting his hand on the biobed, right next to hers. Their fingers touched, the same move she'd pulled on him the first night they met, her way of asking without words. And now, here he was, returning the favor. 

Michael didn't even think about it, she just grabbed his gold uniform jacket and hauled him in. Chris instantly reached for her, their mouths colliding in a heated tangle. Michael opened her mouth, tongue exploring, relearning his taste as Chris groaned, his hands gripping her tight. Heat spiraled through her, a heavy, pulsing thing, deepening as they kissed, losing themselves in each other, stumbling back against the biobed. 

It was enough to break them apart, Michael staring into startled blue eyes, Chris staring back, flushed and panting. She never thought she'd have this again. "So that hasn't gone away," he said, going for dry but mostly coming out shaky. 

That she could crack Captain Pike's famed control sent a frisson of lust clear through her. "How long before you leave?" Michael asked, hearing how breathy her own voice sounded. 

Chris swallowed, visibly trying to get control of himself. "I don't know."

"Long enough to join me in my quarters?" she pressed, licking her lips. 

His eyes darkened. "It better be."

Michael swayed forward again, but Chris ducked away, clearing his throat. "If I'm gonna walk out of here, I need to—" He waved a hand toward himself.

"Calm down?" she suggested, smirking. 

Chris narrowed his eyes at her. "I'd like to point out that you're not wearing pants."

"I'll soon be wearing a lot less than that," she shot back, body already tingling. He wasn't her CO anymore; his mission was over. She could _have_ this. For a time. 

With Chris looking at her like _that—_ awed, impressed, trusting, _heated_ —it was all she wanted. 

"That's not playing fair," he muttered. 

"No games, I assure you." Then she raised her voice. "Computer, end privacy protocol." The opaque shield disappeared, the usual hustle and bustle of med bay filtering back in. "Excuse me, Captain," she said, prim. "I should go rest."

With that, she walked out. 

***

She'd only just dropped the rest of her clothes and pulled on a short robe when the door chimed, Chris making good time. She called out for him to enter, Chris' eyes widening at the pile of clothes on the floor, the silky gray robe that hit mid-thigh.

"Why waste time?" she asked, reasonable, moving to him. 

Chris took in the room quickly, his eyes helplessly locking on her when she got close. "You have a roommate?"

"Computer, secure the doors." After the sound of the doors locking, she smiled a little at Chris. "Tilly. She's inventing a new branch of science. She'll be studying that asteroid for _hours_. But even so."

His eyes darkened. "Hours sounds good." Then he reached for her, pulling her into a kiss, Michael falling into it with relish. His mouth on hers was familiar, her body taking notice as he kissed her breathless. That low-level heat she'd been battling since she saw him on that transporter pad _flared_ and this time, she didn't shove it aside. She pressed against him, hands exploring, learning the feel of his chest through his uniform jacket. 

Something about that struck him, Chris pulling back, breathless, but smiling a little. "The uniform, really?"

"You wear it well." Michael worked open his collar, pulling down the zipper. He let her shove the jacket off, then helped, pulling his undershirt up and dropping it aside. 

Chris reached for her again, but instead of pulling her to him, he tugged at the tie to her robe, smiling to himself like he was opening a present.

Delight flittered through Michael as she held still, letting him have his fun, plucking the tie open, the robe parting. She watched his face as he realized yes, she was completely naked underneath. The heat in his gaze was nearly palpable. 

Chris looked back up to her eyes, lust burning there. "This beats every fantasy I've ever had about you."

Heat flushed through her at the admission; he'd had fantasies about her. "Real thing, no waiting," she said, low. 

Chris nudged the robe off her shoulders and it puddled at her feet, forgotten, as he pulled her into him, skin to skin, Michael making a wanting noise as he found her mouth. 

And then it was heat and drudging kisses and relearning each other all over again. He smelled the same, he tasted the same, he was still ticklish, gasping in when she dug her fingers into his side. He knew how to press her down and nip at her collarbone, just like she liked. He _remembered_. 

The thought slammed home and Michael roused herself from sensory overload, stretched out underneath him, Chris' teeth scraping over her nipple as two of his fingers slipped inside her, Chris groaning at how wet she was. The vibrations against her breast sparked a trail of fire from there to where he slowly thrust his fingers into her, a tease. 

If she let him, he would spend actual _hours_ nibbling his way all over her body while his hands drove her insane with lust. She _knew_ this. 

So she pulled away from his talented hands and talented mouth, watching as he sat up, concern in his eyes now. "Everything okay?"

Michael kneed over to him, reaching for the pants he still wore. "You can play later. Sex now."

Chris' expression relaxed, that little half-smile appearing. "Pretty sure that's what we were doing." But he let her unclasp his pants and push a hand inside, stroking him firmly where he was hard and hot. Chris' breath hitched in a gasp as she tightened her grip, drawing him out of his pants. He was leaking a little, ready, and Michael loosened her hand, not wanting this to be over too soon. 

Michael moved over to perch on his thighs, still stroking him gently, a ghost of a touch. Chris' eyes widened as he realized what she was doing. "You want—of course you want it like this," he said, rueful. 

"You were in charge all day," she said, kneeling up so she could position him.

"Was I," he muttered, then groaned as she unceremoniously slid down onto him. 

Michael tipped her head forward and gasped, her body adjusting, nerve endings screaming their pleasure. She hadn't been with anyone since their leave and he felt familiar, filling her just right. 

She pressed their mouths together as they both took a moment, getting a hold of themselves. Chris wrapped his arms around her, grip tight, like that would stop the fine tremble in his hands. 

After another moment, Michael pushed herself up and lowered down onto him again, moaning into his mouth. His arms helped take some of her weight, following her lead, and soon she was moving up and down on him steadily, leaning away to change the angle, one hand anchored in his hair, pleasure firing through her, sharp and fast. Chris moaned and kissed everywhere he could reach, gasping out praise like he couldn't help himself— _so good_ and _gorgeous_ and _perfect_ and _Michael_.

She felt his thighs trembling underneath her and suddenly his fingers pressed to her clit, circling her expertly, and she sucked in a sharp gasp, suddenly _there_ , waves of pleasure swamping her, her body pulling tight around Chris, making him groan as he jerked up sharply, his own orgasm taking him. 

Michael sagged onto him as they panted through the afterglow, her thigh muscles gone liquid and tired. She could lift herself off him...or she could stay right here, nuzzling at his chest, feeling his heart pounding against hers. Tough choice. 

Chris turned his head, nudging her to look up at him. He brought their mouths together, the kiss shaky and open, but also slow, like he wanted to remember this. 

Eventually he pulled back, smiling. "Round one go how you want it to?" he asked, indulgent.

Michael shivered. Round three was where it usually got interesting for her. "It was acceptable."

"Oh, 'acceptable?'" he asked, mock-offended—

"Bryce to Captain Pike." 

They both jolted at the comm system activating, Bryce's voice sounding loud in her quiet room. 

Chris didn't let anything show in his voice as he responded: "Pike here."

"Admiral Cornwell for you, sir."

Chris swallowed, looking down at himself in dismay, half-dressed, post-coital, Michael still sitting astride him. "Put it through to the captain's ready room," he said. "And let her know I'll be a few."

"Yes, sir. Bryce out."

Chris looked at Michael. "Guess round two will have to wait." He brought one hand up to her cheek like he relished the touch. He smiled slightly. "I'm glad for this."

Michael's throat went tight, though she couldn't say why. She leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Then she opened them again, smiling, small. "As am I. But duty calls." She slid off him and onto the bed, covering herself as he stood and pulled his uniform back into place. 

Like nothing ever happened. 

***

Michael was just straightening her own uniform when Tilly bounded in. "You're all better!"

"Good as new." Her leg was, anyway. The rendezvous with Chris was still sinking in, her body sated, but her mind...processing. She didn't know if that had made things better or worse, pleasure aside. She still _wanted_. 

"Science is awesome," Tilly said, like it was a Commandment from On High. "Did you hear the news?"

"I did," Michael said, smiling. "Congratulations. Bagging an asteroid is no small feat."

Tilly blinked. "What? Oh, right. Yeah, that was amazing, but I meant the news about Captain Pike. You know, that he's staying with us."

Michael froze. "He's—I—what?" she stammered out, the shock hitting her low. 

"Yeah, I guess the admiralty wants him to keep looking into those red signals. Wild, huh?" Tilly said, settling on her bunk with a shake of her head, like this wasn't a disaster in the making.

Michael opened her mouth to say something...and nothing came out. 

"What is happening to your face right now?" Tilly asked, confused. "Why—" Her eyes widened as horrified knowing slipped into her eyes. "Wait. You didn't."

Michael flushed. 

"Oh, my god, you did. You—already? How? You've only been back for like four hours," Tilly protested, like she couldn't believe it. 

"I thought he was leaving. _He_ thought he was leaving."

Tilly stared at her. "That is commitment. No, seriously, I'm impressed. His dick must be magic."

Michael breathed out, shoving that thought aside. "Tilly."

"You're freaking out again, aren't you?"

Michael didn't know what she was. "...he was leaving," she tried, wrapping her mind around it. And now he wasn't. 

"Did you want him to go?" Tilly asked, insightful as ever. 

_No_ , her mind instantly replied. "That doesn't make things less complicated."

"But it may make them more clear," she offered, bright. "You obviously still want him. You should go for it," she decided. 

"He's _the captain_. For real now. At least for a while."

"So?" Tilly asked, confused.

"He's my commanding officer," she said obviously. "It creates all sorts of problems."

"Oh, please, captains sleep with crew members all the time. If they didn't, they'd never sleep with anyone and does Starfleet really want sexually-frustrated captains running around the galaxy? I don't think so. It's why the fraternization rules are so chill."

Michael stiffened, suddenly uncomfortable. "I'm talking about a higher standard."

"Are you? Or is this a weird Michael thing of not allowing yourself to get what you want because you think you don't deserve it?" Tilly asked, straight up, and would it kill her to _not_ call Michael out for once?

Then another thought occurred to her: "I'm going to have to talk to him about this." As in, actually talk with words rather than jumping each other, as was their way. 

Tilly smiled. "This is what you get for refusing me details. I could've fixed this, but now you're on your own, my friend."

***

Michael stepped into Chris' ready room, finding him frowning at the room in consternation. He wore the Discovery's uniform now, fully the captain, and it sent another little _zing_ through her. 

She really should not have this reaction to him in uniform. She was surrounded by them all the time. It didn't make _sense_. 

Chris' expression smoothed out when he looked over at her, warmth slipping in. "Michael."

"Sir." She saw when he got it, recognizing the dual roles they now inhabited. 

"Ah, it's gonna be that talk, is it?" he asked, knowing. 

"Did you think you'd get out of it?"

"I thought I had a little more time to settle in first. This is all...new." Chris shook his head, like he hadn't expected any of it and was still processing. Which was fair. Michael still didn't know what she was going to say.

She gestured back to the bridge. "I can come back."

"Nah, we might as well. Come in, come in." He waved her inside and Michael stepped in, hearing the doors close behind her. They were alone now. 

The thought made her heart speed up. Even just being with him in a room...she felt that itch again. The _want_. 

Something inside her shied away.

"So...what are we going to do about this?" Michael asked, nodding between them. 

Chris studied her for a moment, his expression inscrutable. "What do you want to do?" he finally asked, maddeningly neutral. 

Michael swallowed, holding very still. "I wouldn't want anything to get in the way of a professional working relationship."

He nodded, once, like that was a given. "I concur."

"So we should probably...stop," she said, a statement...but also half a question. 

Chris took her in, something speculative in his eyes...and then he nodded, slow. "Okay. We'll keep it professional."

"Very good, sir," Michael said, stiff, though she didn't understand why. She'd suggested it; he'd simply agreed with her assessment. _Why_ was there a lump of dissatisfaction in her gut?

She turned to go, but his voice stopped her: "Michael." She turned back to find him looking at her, soft. "I want you to know...you can always come to me. I'm here for you."

Warmth slipped through her, so familiar with him. Even aside from the attraction, the unwavering support he gave off...she'd never experienced anything like it. 

Michael smiled. "I appreciate that. And the same goes for you. If you ever need me..."

Chris nodded, solemn, taking it to heart. Their eyes held, something heavy in the air between them, prickling along her skin.

But they were stopping. 

Then the corner of Chris' mouth lifted. "Since you're here...what's up with this ready room? Where the hell do people sit?"

Michael clung to the lightness, grateful for the reprieve. "They don't. Lorca wasn't one to encourage discourse."

That bit of truth landed on Chris, sobering him a little. "Well, I like my officers to feel like they can pull up a chair and speak freely. Why don't we get the hell out of here, huh? Come on." He started out of the ready room, determined and assured. 

"Yes, sir," Michael said, marveling a little, turning to follow. He was so different from Lorca. He would be so good for the crew. 

And if a little part of her was disappointed that was all she was to him now—a crew member—that was a small price to pay for professionalism's sake. They had a good and honorable man as captain. It was enough. 

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just saying, this is a foolproof plan with 100% chance of success. _Totally_.


End file.
